


All the Stars in Texas

by burymeonpluto



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: 1930s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Bank Robbers, But Easily Read Into, Car Chases, Gen, Gun Violence, Partners in Crime, Roadtrip, Ship is Vague, This is my Character Study on Ventus, shameless Americana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 20:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burymeonpluto/pseuds/burymeonpluto
Summary: “This has to be your best score yet.”“Nah.”“Oh, yeah? Why not?” Ven settles into the passenger seat sideways, leaning back against the rumbling door with the open window and hot, country air. He can’t even hear the police sirens anymore.Vanitas has the steering wheel in one hand. He’s grinning in a way that only he can. “That’s because you’re the best thing I ever stole.”Ven’s smile peels back against his will. “Gross.”





	All the Stars in Texas

 

 

The engine rumbles low over the rough roads. They don’t speak. The cabin of the car is dark without the city lights intruding through the windows. They must be well outside the city by now. He doesn’t remember leaving, getting in the car or anything. It’s like he blinked and now here’s here. He’s been tethered back to his body and it’s in this car with this guy with calloused hands and golden eyes that glint in the dim light of the headlamps.  
  
“What’s your name?” The guy asks, voice as rough as his hands. How many times has he asked without getting an answer? His tone says it’s at least once.  
  
“Ventus,” he croaks.  
  
The guy repeats it softly. A confirmation; a reminder. But it grates on Ven’s ears. It’s an itching in his chest.  
  
“Just Ven is fine.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Call me Ven,” he mumbles. He tightly threads his fingers together in his lap. They’re crusted in what can only be blood. “Where are we going?”  
  
“Away.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
The guy laughs through his nose. “What? You ain’t scared?”  
   
“Why would I be?”  
  
He doesn’t answer.  
  
“Should I be scared?” No matter the response, Ven is certain he won’t be. It’s been so long since he’s felt something like ‘fear,’ anyway. What’s it like again? He remembers that it’s unpleasant. A tight squeezing in his chest and weightlessness in his guts.  
  
Golden eyes narrow at the endless expanse of road. “You don’t know me.”  
  
“What’s your name?”  
  
There’s a short moment of hesitation. “Vanitas.”  
  
“Now I know.”  
  
Vanitas starts laughing. It’s quiet and made of nothing but breath. “You’re really weird.”  
  
Is he? He doesn’t know.  
  
Vanitas keeps driving, and Ven sits there.  
  
They’re far from Chicago by the time dawn breaks. Ven wonders if they’re even in Illinois anymore.  
  
Vanitas pulls close to a fill-up station in some Nowhere town surrounded by endless pasture. He sinks into the seat with a tired sigh. “Go on.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“You can go.”  
  
“Go where?”  
  
His face crunches up. “Anywhere. Go ahead. Run to the police station if you want. I’ll be long gone by the time you get there.”  
  
“Why would I go to the police?”  
  
Vanitas stares at him, before snatching one of Ven’s bloodstained hands and waving it around in his face. “You watched a man die tonight, you nutter. Any normal person would call the cops.”  
  
“Oh…”  
  
He lets the hand drop. “What’s with you?”  
  
He doesn’t know. He sits there and chews on his lip. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”  
  
“Then go where you want,” he insists.  
  
“I don’t want to go anywhere.”  
  
That makes another pause. Vanitas’s voice turns quiet: “Are you telling me you don’t want to leave?”  
  
Is that it? Ven nods.  
  
“You’re serious? You don’t want to go back to Chicago?”  
  
“No.” He answers instantly.  
  
Vanitas studies his face. Looks him up and down for a long time. “No place to go, huh…” then he puts the car back in gear and rolls into the station. “I guess I can find somewhere to leave you, then.”  
  
If he does, there’s nothing Ven can do about it. He’ll just be stuck.  
  
Vanitas fills the fuel tank, and they’re back on the road again. The morning is still hazy and grey. Eventually, it brightens up into a crisp, clear blue. Ven leans against the door and watches the fields and fences pass by in a blur. Trees, windmills, and cows.  
  
It’s a full hour into their trek across the plains when Vanitas speaks up again: “Changed your mind yet?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“You still planning on coming along for the ride?”  
  
He doesn’t have much choice. “It’s not like I have anything else… but I can’t stop you if you decide to kick me out, either…”  
  
“I have a mind to,” he retorts. “You’re such a downer.”  
  
Ven just shrugs. Maybe he is. He wouldn’t know.  
  
A few more minutes of silence. Or maybe another hour. It’s hard to tell. The sun could be considered high in the sky by now. Vanitas yawns, long and slow, like a dog lounging in the summer sun. Ven realizes they’ve been riding—Vanitas has been driving—since last night. He must be exhausted. Surely, they’ll make a rest stop soon.  
  
“How far are we going?”  
  
“As far as I have to,” Vanitas answers simply.  
  
–  
  
It’s nothing but corn and wheat today. The occasional farmhouse with no one else around for miles. Maybe some phone and electric lines swooping alongside the highway like thin black waves. A bright blue sky without a hint of rain. Puffed-up, white clouds like cotton. Whipped cream. Cold desserts and hot summer streets—  
  
“Where are you from, kid?” Vanitas’s voice shatters the silence of his thoughts.  
  
Ven squints. “Kid?”  
  
“Let me guess: you’re not from Chicago.”  
  
“I am.”  
  
Vanitas sends him a sidelong glance. “And you don’t want to go back?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Running away from home, huh?”  
  
“That wasn’t a home.”  
  
“You’re a brick wall to talk to, ya know that?” Vanitas mutters.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Don’t you have any thoughts? You’re always staring out the window. What’re you thinking about?”  
  
“I’m just… watching the world go by.”  
  
Vanitas snorts. “Sounds about right.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“You’re always watching. Letting things happen. Why don’t you _do_ something for once? Try to run? Fight back? _Something_?”  
  
“I… don’t want to.” And it’s the truth.  
  
But Vanitas still doesn’t like that answer, and all but growls: “What _do_ you want!?”  
  
“I want—ice cream.” Ven stops suddenly. Where did that come from?  
  
Vanitas seems to wonder the same thing. “Ice cream,” he repeats. He sounds annoyed.  
  
Ven carefully swallows. “I remember having it before, but… I can’t remember what it tastes like.”  
  
“What kind of kid has never had ice cream?” he scoffs.  
  
Ven rolls his eyes. “Like you’re any older than me.”  
  
“Oh? Looks like the boy has teeth after all.” What is that supposed to mean? “Alright. Fine. Ice cream it is.” Just like that? Ven didn’t expect him to actually agree. Especially not to something so… out-of-the-blue.  
  
They find a shoppe in the next town, where Ven tries four different flavors of ice cream. Vanitas watches him from behind a chocolate cone with what Ven hopes is amusement. He takes another healthy bite of scoop number four, a cherry-flavored cream, and a horrendous headache splits his skull open.  
  
Vanitas starts laughing. “I was waiting for that.” No response. He laughs a little harder. “How’s the ice cream headache?”  
  
Ven groans into his hands.  
  
“That’s the best face you’ve ever made,” he chuckles.  
  
At least his look _was_ amusement. Good grief. Vanitas could’ve warned him. “It hurts.”  
  
“Looks like you can feel after all,” he remarks, biting into his own cone. “Just take it easy next time, kid.”  
  
“I’m not a kid.”  
  
“Says the ice cream fiend.”  
  
“Button your lip already, would’ja?”  
  
Vanitas grins at that. “Is that what you _want_?”  
  
“It is.”  
  
“Too bad you’re gonna hafta try a lot harder than that,” he sneers, and takes another bite.  
  
Ven has the thought of jamming a spoonful of cherry ice cream right into Vanitas’s stupid face. What would he say to that? Could he still grin like that with a stray cherry pit in his nose? Probably.  
  
The mental image makes Ven smile, though, and Vanitas’s grin falters.  
  
He decides that strawberry is his favorite.  
  
–  
  
Vanitas studies him from over the top of the sedan. He’s thinking hard about something, but Ven can’t imagine what. He speaks up before Ven can open his door: “Know how to drive?”  
  
“Yeah, I guess.”  
  
Vanitas gives him a look. “Have you ever driven a car before?”  
  
“No.”  
  
He rubs his face with his hands.  
  
“How hard can it be?”  
  
“Ya think so?” he scoffs. He opens the driver’s side door and waves Ven over with a challenging sneer. “Go on, then.”  
  
Why not? Ven slips inside and takes the steering wheel into his hand. He can feel the worn indentations from Vanitas’s fingers. The leather is warm and maybe a little slick with sweat, but Ven doesn’t mind it.  
  
Vanitas lounges on the passenger’s side, laying his arm along the ridge of the seat. “Once around the park, Joe.”  
  
Ven has no idea what he’s talking about. He decides to ignore it and fumbles with the ignition.  
  
He’s met with another scoff. “It was a joke, Venty.”  
  
“Huh?” What was—Did he just say ‘Venty’?  
  
“A joke. You _do_ know what a joke is, right?”  
  
“Of course I do,” he mutters.  
  
“When was the last time you laughed?”  
  
That’s a strange question. Ven shuffles through some memories, mostly hazy and black. “I don’t know.”  
  
Vanitas doesn’t say anything else. It’s not until Ven finally manages to crank the engine and put it in gear that he sighs to the roof: “That’s really something.”  
  
Ven doesn’t know what that means, either, and steps on the gas.  
  
The pedal has less give than he imagined it would. The engine roars to life. Tires screech and spin in place. Vanitas braces himself against the seat as they jet forward down the empty street.  
  
“Easy! I ain’t got another one of these things!”  
  
Ven didn’t mean to go this fast, but it’s kinda fun. This speed. The desolate highway with nothing or no one for miles. There’s only acres of wheat and corn and weeds, and the hot air waving above the asphalt. The car jostles along the uneven road, leaving rocks and dust in its wake. It’s a straight shot for now. He should be able to go as fast as he wants. Right?  
  
The dial on the dashboard ticks ever higher, and Vanitas swats his arm. “Are you listening to me!? Reel it in!”  
  
But it’s fun. He doesn’t want to.  
  
A darker image springs to mind. An unpleasant memory. He sees an old man with the steering wheel in one hand and a lever in the other. He works them in tandem to weave dangerously around crowded Chicago corners.  
  
How hard can it be?  
  
They hit a bump in the road and bounce high. “Now!” Vanitas demands.  
  
“Why? You scared?”  
  
For a moment, Vanitas is struck into silence. “Listen here, wise guy—” he’s cut off as Ven approaches a curve way too fast, and the tires scream along the pavement in protest.  
  
Ven doesn’t want to stop. His face hurts, but he doesn’t want to slow down at all.  
  
He straightens the car to continue their flight down the highway. The back end wobbles before dropping back into place. Got it. That wasn’t so hard. Vanitas has stopped complaining, at least. Ven glances over at him, and finds his face shocked and smirking.  
  
“What is it?” Ven chances.  
  
“I’m surprised you even know _how_ to smile.”  
  
He brings a hand to his face. His lips are pulled taut beneath his touch, teeth exposed and cheeks achingly full of mirth. He didn’t notice at all.  
  
“We’re making a pit stop in the next town,” Vanitas sighs and stretches in his seat. “’Cause I’ll never get any sleep if I’m too busy fearing for my life.”  
  
“So you _were_ scared,” Ven jabs.  
  
“Just shut up and drive, ya lunatic.”  
  
–  
  
Ven lays across the motel bed, watching the ceiling fan work overtime in the hot, humid air. The breeze feels nice on his face but it’s not nearly enough. It’s still so hot. Sunset was so long ago but it’s still so hot. His clothes are sticking to sweat-soaked skin. How is he supposed to sleep like this? This is nothing like Chicago, or any of their other stops. How do people live here?  
  
“Getting mad ain’t gonna make it any cooler,” Vanitas snorts from his seat by the open window. He doesn’t seem too bothered by the heat, either. Or the multitude of crickets and cicadas screaming just outside.  
  
“I’m not mad,” Ven deflects.  
  
“That look in your eye says otherwise.”  
  
“I can’t sleep.”  
  
“Sounds like trouble.”  
  
What a helpful response. Like Vanitas could actually _help_ with such a problem, anyway.  
  
“I have something for that,” he says, and Ven has the passing thought that maybe Vanitas can see straight into his mind.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah,” he lifts up out of his chair and starts fumbling around in their meager luggage. _His_ meager luggage. Ven doesn’t have any belongings. Even his sleep clothes are a size too big and borrowed from Vanitas’s things. “Here it is,” and he pulls something out of a hidden compartment in his suitcase. It’s a glass jar full of clear liquid. Ven immediately and instinctively knows it’s alcohol.  
  
Vanitas twists the cap and holds the jar out towards him. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m sure you know hooch when you see it.”  
  
“Yeah…”  
  
“Have a nightcap. Help you sleep.”  
  
Ven tentatively takes the open jar into his hands. The liquid smells not unlike kerosene. This stuff is pure. Un-aged and distilled several times over. It’s called something like “Lightning.”  
  
The thoughts and memories fly away into the dark.  
  
Sip. Don’t drink. He knows this. He knows it’s unpleasant. It’s supposed to burn like fire.  
  
He takes a quick half-gulp. It tastes like burned corn. Grainy and charred. His throat is full of the embers.  
  
“Breathe out,” Vanitas instructs.  
  
Ven had almost forgotten to breathe entirely. He exhales, and a new flavor bursts to life on his tongue. Malty and pleasant. He studies the jar, and simply asks: “How?”  
  
“It’s not the best,” Vanitas shrugs, “but it ain’t bad.”  
  
The fire pools in his stomach. He can’t decide if he likes it or not. “It isn’t fun.”  
  
Vanitas laughs and reclaims his jar. “Not supposed to be. Not yet, anyway. Gotta drink more for that.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
He takes a gulp straight from the mouth of the jar, making a face as he exhales invisible fire. “I’m prepared to put in the work.”  
  
Like Ven didn’t know that. But that stuff is so strong, it doesn’t take much for Vanitas’s shoulders to loosen up. For him to lounge comfortably in his chair, or screw the cap back onto the jar and stow it away for later days.  
  
Ven still can’t sleep in this unbearable heat, but at least now he has something to occupy his time. He watches Vanitas flop back into his chair by the window, completely oblivious to noise or form. He asks Ven a multitude of questions, as he always does, and Ven answers the best he can. Lots of _whys_ and _whats_ and _wheres_. A sort of pattern emerges: Vanitas’s voice changes when he drinks. It’s weird. He pronounces things differently. Says phrases Ven’s never heard in his life and has no idea what they mean.  
  
Oh. It must be an accent, right? Is this another weird joke?  
  
“Are you alright?” Ven asks.  
  
Vanitas has his head out of the open window, gazing lazily into the starry sky. “Mm. Fair to middling.”  
  
“Is that one of your jokes?”  
  
“Hah?”  
  
“Fair to middling,” he repeats. “What does that mean?”  
  
“It means good-not-great, and it ain’t a joke.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Ven shrugs. “You talk differently sometimes. Like when you’re drinking.”  
  
Vanitas leans up. His eyes are wide now, and he nervously wets his lips. “Different how?”  
  
“Like with an accent. I thought it was a joke.”  
  
His mouth is pressed into a straight line. In the white light of the moon, his face almost looks flushed. Too much alcohol, maybe. “Yeah,” he coughs. “Ya got me. It’s a joke.”  
  
Ven doesn’t believe that now.  
  
But he continues to deflect. “I’m just trying to liven you up. What else am I gonna do with you?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“I can’t even trust you to drive…” he trails off. That grin sprouts onto his face, and he chuckles. “If only.”  
  
“What’s so funny?”  
  
“A stupid idea,” he admits, “but it could work. You’re always along for the ride, right? Why don’t you make yourself useful, then?”  
  
Something about that phrase pricks at Ven’s brain. It prods at a feeling. An image. He can’t quite touch it, or even remember it clearly. Cold nights of dust and malt and exhaust. “What?”  
  
“Humor me, alright? You enjoy driving like a damn maniac—might as well do it for a reason.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
He leans forward, gold eyes bright and shining in the dark. Ven can’t look away. “I can see it. You’ve got the stuff. Just need a little more teaching. So, the next time we’re hurtin’ for money, you’ll be the runner.”  
  
Ven tugs at his collar, hoping to let some cooler air slip through his shirt. “You’re gonna make me the driver?”  
  
“Can’t make a clean getaway without one,” he smirks.  
  
“That’s a little more than being along for the ride, isn’t it?”  
  
“Well, I gotta give ya _something_ to do. You’re too depressing to look at otherwise.”  
  
“Then stop looking,” Ven scowls.  
  
Vanitas bursts out laughing. It’s a loud, explosive sound that Ven hasn’t heard in a long time. “Not on your life, Venty.”  
  
He feels itchy all over. “Shut up,” is all he can say.  
  
Vanitas keeps laughing, but Ven isn’t mad about it. He spends the rest of the night trying to figure out why.  
  
–  
  
“Go! Go! Step on it!”  
  
Ven stands on the gas as soon as Vanitas lands one foot inside the car, and tires scream them out into the street.  
  
Vanitas shuts the door just before it can be taken off by an incoming lamppost. He turns around in the seat and surveys the small-town bank they’re leaving behind. “Clean as a whistle.” He dumps a heavy-looking sack into the backseat. The gun stays in his lap. “Remember the route?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Good boy,” he grins, ruffling unruly blonde hair. His fingers tug a bit, and Ven wonders if he should invest in a comb.  
  
The first siren sounds. It’s faint and far away.  
  
Ven takes the first turn so cleanly and quickly that the back end of the sedan seems to drift along behind them.  
  
Vanitas is still grinning. “You’re a regular runner.”  
  
Ven prefers Getaway Driver. Less unsavory associations with that title.  
  
“Must be the upbringing.”  
  
Don’t say it like that.  
  
Ven weaves wildly through the alleyways and side streets, and the two cross the city limits without seeing a single police car.  
  
-

“This has to be your best score yet.”

Vanitas considers that for a moment. “Nah.”

“Oh, yeah? Why not?” Ven settles into the passenger seat sideways, leaning back against the rumbling door with the open window and hot, country air. Dust clouds kick up behind their tires in an orangey shroud. He can’t even hear the police sirens anymore.

Vanitas has the steering wheel in one hand. He’s grinning in a way that only he can. “That’s because you’re the best thing I ever stole.”

Ven’s smile peels back against his will. “Gross.” He leans his head out the window into the dry air. He hears nothing but the wind.

–

The so-called “smell of money,” has been greatly romanticized. It’s nothing but the scent of ink and metal. It stinks.

Ven would argue that the real romance is in the scent of fresh linen in a swanky hotel room. The sharp, earthy smell of good coffee. A fine juniper gin. Mint and cherries and luxurious spices.

Money stinks, but the things it can do are amazing. He keeps telling himself this as he counts the quarters four at a time, hunched over a poorly-lit card table above a speakeasy in the Middle of Nowhere, Missouri. A coin slips from his tired fingers and he groans. Those idiots obviously haven’t figured out how to roll their change yet. This is taking forever. Counting all the bills is hard enough, but all of these quarters?

“Where was I?” Ven mumbles, and glances back to his pad of paper. 100 is scribbled there, and this last bag has 50 so far. He scratches out one number for the total and resumes counting. $180 in quarters. No wonder the bag was so ungodly heavy. What was Vanitas thinking?

“Smaller denominations are less suspicious,” Ven mutters to himself through his nose in a distinctly non-Vanitas fashion. What does that matter? Ven has found that most people don’t care where the money comes from—they’re just happy to take it. It’s the only thing that matters. The pulse of this world.

He hears the door open. Vanitas traipses in with the first three buttons of his shirt undone and a smoking jacket thrown over his shoulder. His grin is murky as he props himself against the wall. “How’d we do?”

“A little over two grand,” Ven answers, arranging the wrapped stacks of bills into a briefcase.

Vanitas hums and walks over with clunky footsteps. “We can do better.” His hands curl over Ven’s shoulders. They’re warm. “Next job is a big one.”

“Knock it off,” he shrugs off the touch.

Vanitas plops into the adjacent chair and leans onto the table, cheek resting against the vinyl surface. “So touchy as always, Venty,” he laughs.

His breath is laced with bourbon whiskey. Ven would know that smell anywhere, even through the lingering cigarette smoke. A pit opens up in his stomach. “Bourbon again?”

Vanitas groans, looking up at him without lifting his head. “I’m gonna break you of that association one day.”

“Sure,” Ven scoffs. He doesn’t want to think about it. The sweet malty smell is grating against the scabs that hide his memories.

Vanitas points an index finger at him, aimed right between his eyes. His thumb stands tall like the hammer of a pistol. “He’s dead now. Remember?”

“Yeah… I know.”

“So don’t sweat it,” and he pokes Ven’s forehead, all gentleness muted by the alcohol.

“It’s not that easy...”

“I’ll make you forget. Just watch.” He rests his head on folded arms. “I’ll take it all with me. Steal it from right under your nose.”

Ven laughs softly, “I guess stealing is all you’re good at after all, you mook.”

“I didn’t earn the distinction of Public Enemy for nothin’, thank you.”

“No, I guess not,” he admits. Vanitas is smirking. His eyes slowly close. Ven goes back to filling the briefcase with stolen money. “Go ahead and steal it if you can, then.”

“Don’t doubt my power,” he mumbles. His hand reaches out and grips Ven’s forearm, like he’s searching for solid ground. Huh. The room must be spinning. He’s told Vanitas to stop drinking so much.

Vanitas’s thumb absently strokes his wrist. He’s completely lost in his head now.

Ven puts the rest of the money away with one hand.

–

The smell of bourbon lingers in his nose and ignites horrid dreams of past nights spent on cold hardwood floors. Of boxes upon boxes of smuggled liquor and the scent of gunpowder. The hand that killed his parents steering him into speakeasies and casinos all along the Chicago underground.

The dream ends with the flash of a gunshot. Vanitas stands panting behind a pillar of smoke and offers his own calloused hand. Ven takes it.

–

It’s the middle of a hot day, though Ven has lost track of which one, when they’re cruising around another small, no-name town. Vanitas parks the car at a simple fill-up station on the edge of town with an adjoining Mom n’ Pop general store. A bicycle shop is across the street, with a locksmith beside it, but beyond that is nothing but fields and farmland. The downtown area couldn’t be any more than three blocks along a dusty main street.

Ven idly watches the man in the window of the bicycle shop as he carefully winds a chain around the gears. Must be a repair.

Vanitas says something about supplies and heads into the general store. Ven remains in the parking lot, window rolled down to feel whatever dusty breeze decides to blow his way. There’s nothing. A hot, stagnant day tinged with the vague scent of dirt and manure. All these places are the same. Just another speck on a map of the endless highway.  
  
A group of kids play marbles in a dusty vacant lot. Down the street, three teenagers are perched on a wooden fence, spitting what is probably the shells of sunflower seeds at a tin can some ten paces away. There’s no theatre, or park, or anything in this town. Ven pities them, and at the same time, he doesn’t.

Someone pats on the roof of the car and Ven jumps.

A young police officer grins down at him from the sidewalk. “Hey there.” His eyes are an unearthly blue, and crazy brown hair sticks out from under his cap. Actually, he kind of looks like Vanitas in the face. The badge on his chest reads ‘Sora.’ What a strange name.

He looks even younger than Ven. But he’s a cop, and that’s enough to freeze Ven’s insides. “Hello, officer.” He forces his best smile. “Can I help you with something?” Please be unassuming. Please—

“I just wanted to ask you something,” he shrugs.

“Go ahead.”

“Have you ever heard of an old rum-runner named Xehanort?”

Ven’s teeth lock into place. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

He adjusts his cap and frowns. “That’s a shame. Well. I only ask because you look a lot like his missing grandson.” Shit. “The old man was shot in cold blood about two weeks back. It looks like his grandson must’ve killed him and just took off.” That’s not true! None of it!

“How awful,” Ven says as genuinely as he can. He won’t fall into that trap.

“Yeah, it’s a right mess,” Sora sighs. “Say, what did you say your name was again?”

Breathe, Ventus. “I don’t think you ever asked for my name.”

Sora’s smile is slick. “My mistake. What _is_ your name?”

He can’t take his eyes off of the shiny police badge. “It’s Roxas.” He can hear Vanitas berating him now: ‘ _Great lie, Venty. Real convincing.’_

But Sora seems to accept it. “Roxas, hm? That’s an unusual one.”

Ven tries to laugh. “I get that a lot.”

“Heh. So do I.”

He doesn’t respond to that. Please. Just go away.

“I’ll leave you to it, then, Roxas.” Sora waves and saunters down the sidewalk. Ven watches him go, not even trying to hide his suspicious glare. Sora doesn’t turn around and climbs into the passenger side of an all-black car that’s waiting on the next block. That’s not a typical police cruiser. It’s too far away to get a good look at the plates or even the driver. Whoever it is, their hair is either light blonde or platinum.

Ven commits it to memory. Sora: suspicious with spiky hair and a light-haired companion. They’re looking for him.

Vanitas ducks into the driver’s seat with a cap covering his head as well. Ven almost doesn’t recognize him, but that’s the whole point. “Who the hell was that?”

“Says he’s a cop,” Ven shrugs.

Vanitas’s nose scrunches up. “And what did the lawman want?”

“Looking for me. I gave him a fake name, but I don’t know if he believed me.”

He nods slowly. Ven can see the thoughts already swirling in his head. He cranks the engine and throws the car into gear, peeling out into the street. “So they’re on our trail already?” he smirks. “Not half bad. We’ll have to make tracks to the next town a little early.”

So it’s a late night exodus into the plains again. Out through the dark of night to the next township, lit in the distance like the rising sun.

–

The car rumbles down the darkened road, surrounded by nothing but fences and walls of corn stalks. The only light source out here is the moon and the burn of the headlights.

Ven half-expects Vanitas to break the silence with questions—to interrogate Ven on whatever comes to mind like he always does—but it never happens. It looks like he’s finally run out of questions. That’s a little sad. How will they fill the silence now?  
  
Of course. Ven could smack himself. Vanitas isn’t the only one allowed to ask questions. Why hasn’t he thought of this before? Vanitas never exactly offered an opportunity, but Ven can’t help but think it’s a little unfair. Vanitas is an enigma. He knows all about Ven’s life, his troubles and woes, but Ven knows nothing. He went with Vanitas out of instinct, fled the crime scene out of fear, but it’s been weeks and he’s still here. Ven wonders if this is really okay. But if Vanitas wanted to hurt him, he would’ve done it a long time ago. He would’ve cut Ven off like the dead weight he is. Why does Vanitas put up with him?

The question that comes out of his mouth instead is: “Why were you there that night? In Chicago?”

“Huh?”

“When we met,” he clarifies. Vanitas’s eyes narrow at the road.

“What’s it matter?”

“I’m just curious. I know nothing about you.”

A sharp smile slices his face. “Feeling regret?” For what? Following him?

“No.” And it’s such a simple and truthful answer that Vanitas ends up choking on his words. “I just… You know so much about _me_ , so I wanted to know more about _you_. Where you’re from; your likes and dislikes…”

“I _dislike_ people digging into my business.”

Yeah. He expected that. Ven sighs towards the floorboards.”I won’t dig. I just wanted to ask.”

There’s a long moment of nothing, not even a frustrated groan or indignant puff of air. The silence drags on until Vanitas finally asks: “Why?”

A fair question. But still. “Do I need a reason?”  
  
He sneers, but doesn’t say anything. His thoughts are clearly running wild. The quiet stretches on for miles. “Can’t you guess?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Where I’m from. You’ve already…” then he grimaces. “If I’m drinking, it’ll slip, right?”  
  
Oh. “You mean the accent?” Vanitas nods. “It’s not… particularly strong, or anything. I don’t really recognize it. But I’ve never been good with those sorts of things…”  
  
He laughs through his nose. “I guess it’s not so noticeable after all…”  
  
“So… where is it from?”  
  
A sigh. Another mile of hesitation. “I learned to drive running moonshine down near the Cumberland Gap.”  
  
Ven has no idea what or where that is.  
  
And Vanitas quickly realizes this, and rolls his eyes. “Virginia.”  
  
“So, that’s where you’re from?”  
  
“More or less,” he shrugs. “It’s the first place I remember. But if you’re looking for roots, I don’t claim to have any. I haven’t set one foot in that state in about five years.”  
  
The sentiment is familiar. Ven feels the smirk pulling at his lips before he can stop it. “So then you’re just a vagabond, right? A wandering gun?”  
  
“I’ll wander you into the next ditch if you don’t shut it.”  
  
Ven snickers into his hand, and Vanitas loosens his grip on the steering wheel. “I knew it all the time.”  
  
His eyes glare, but that grin betrays him. “You’re a real riot.” Ven keeps chuckling to himself. Vanitas doesn’t seem to mind. “I was only in Chicago by chance. I went in to rob the old man. I didn’t know who he was, or anything. I only knew that he was an easy mark at the time.”

Can it really be something so simple? Just a coincidence? “So why… why did you take me with you?”

“Who knows?” he shrugs. “But when you’re a thief, you start to just _know_ when something’s valuable. You get a sixth sense for that sort of thing… And something told me you’d be worth it.”

“Well, whatever it was… I’m glad you did. I don’t think it was a mistake.”

“Hm?”

“You saved me,” he declares. “Thank you.”

Vanitas doesn’t say anything. There’s only the sound of his hands creaking over the steering wheel.  
  
And somewhere in that silence, a question bubbles up before Ven can stifle it: “ Why are you a thief in the first place? It seems like more trouble than it’s worth.”  
  
“Looking for something,” he answers, as if he’d rehearsed it. Like he was fully expecting that question. Even so, it’s not a very good response. “But I guess we’re _all_ looking for something, right?”  
  
Ven isn’t sure about that, but he doesn’t disagree. “What are you looking for?”  
  
Vanitas shrugs. “Won’t know ‘til I find it.”

–

Ven emerges from the motel bathroom to find Vanitas scowling at a grimy mirror mounted on the wall. He’s raking a bit of shiny pomade through his hair with a comb until it’s flattened down and slicked back. It kind of suits him, actually. He’s working hard at it, and assesses his work in the mirror. It only lasts for a little while. A few stray locks spring forward again, stubbornly sticking into their natural position. Vanitas frowns at the mirror, mussing up his hair and muttering something about an “old gypsy curse.” Ven decides to not ask.

Vanitas tosses the tin of pomade into a suitcase instead of the trash. Looks like he hasn’t totally given up on it. “How’s the water pressure?” he asks. He’s still running his fingers through his hair to redistribute all that product. Maybe he should just wash it out.

“Decent,” Ven shrugs. “I’m headed out. Do we need any supplies?”  
  
“Just the usual should be fine.” First-aid and ammunition, then. A few snacks too—make it look like a hunting trip. It’s a good thing they’re so far out in the country now. That excuse can fly them anywhere.  
  
“Got it.” Ven pockets a meager sum of money from their stock and takes to the streets. He remembers seeing a general store on their way in. It should only be a few blocks from here.  
  
Two blocks, as a matter of fact. He doesn’t take much time perusing the shelves, grabbing what he came for and nothing more.

Ven sets the items onto the countertop. A few first-aid supplies, a box of bullets, a jar of peanuts, and two bottles of soda. The total is minuscule. He pays and takes the items with him out into the summer sun.

The motel isn’t far. Ven sips on his cool soda and enjoys the walk through downtown. There’s an old tailor. A bakery that’s already closed up for the day. He passes by a soda shoppe and hesitates by the window. Malts are on special today. A strawberry malt would be amazing in this heat. He imagines sitting at the bar next to Vanitas, him with a chocolate malt and Ven with a strawberry, being able to soak in the slow summer days without constantly looking over their shoulders. If only.

“Thinking about an ice cream soda?” A low voice comes from down the sidewalk. Ven‘s eyes instantly dart over, finding a tall, nicely-dressed man with platinum hair.

Wait.

The man jabs his thumb in the direction of the shoppe. “The sarsaparilla is to die for.”

Ven shakes his head. He remembers Sora, and how he kept trying to corner Ven in conversation. If this guy is connected to Sora in any way... Ven will have to be careful. “I was thinking of a malt, actually.”

“You sure?” He smiles. His eyes are aquamarine and shining and much sharper than his tone lets on.

Ven just nods.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

There it is. “No, sir.”

“Sir?” He genuinely laughs. An almost nervous hand combs back through his hair. “I didn’t think I looked that old.”

Ven chuckles into his bottle of soda. Unassuming. “Sorry.”

He waves it away. “Don’t worry about it. I blame the clothes.” He tugs at the lapels of his sharp-looking jacket, and Ven keeps chuckling. “So, where are you from?”

“Near Milwaukee,” Ven lies easily. “I’m on a road trip with a friend.”

“Oh? Where you headed?”

“Grand Canyon.” Another lie.

He’s nodding, but it’s impossible to tell if he believes any of it. His face betrays nothing. “A good destination. It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah. I can’t wait to get there.”

“You’ve still got a ways to go,” he says. Like Ven doesn’t know that.

He refrains from rolling his eyes, holding up the bag of provisions instead. “That’s what the supplies are for.”

The man smiles again. Ven doesn’t like the way it feels. “You’d better hurry, then.”

Ven thought he’d never give him an opening to leave. “Yup! I’ve really got to get going. My friend must be wondering about me. See ya!” He’s a little too hasty, but that shouldn’t matter. He starts back towards the motel with fervor in his step.

“Be safe on your trip, Ventus.”

He stops in his tracks. He knew it. He _knew_ it! He makes sure to wipe the dumbstruck look off his face before turning around. “The name’s Roxas, actually.”

The man with platinum hair smiles again. “Sorry. Roxas.” He corrects himself, but he clearly doesn’t mean it.

This isn’t fair. Can’t they just leave him alone? A shred of Ven’s frustration slips away from him. “And your name?” He asks with his own loaded smile.

A smirk. “It’s Riku.”

Ven wonders if that’s true or not.

–

When he gets back to the motel, he loses all feeling in his legs. He leans his back against the closed door and sinks to the ground. The bag of provisions tips over into the floor.

Vanitas is up and at his side in a second. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“They’re here.” Ven threads his shaking fingers together. “The cops from Missouri.”

Vanitas clicks his tongue. “Across state lines? Must be Feds.”

“What are we gonna do?” A void of dread opens in his chest. He looks up at Vanitas, into those bright golden eyes that are always so strong and confident. Into a face that always knows what to do.

He ruffles Ven’s already messy hair. “We’re gonna pack up and head for the next town.”

“But won’t they just find us again?”

That sure face turns serious. He holds onto Ven’s arms in a steady grip. “We’ll just have to run to where they can’t follow.”

Ven carefully untangles his fingers. They grab onto Vanitas instead. His shoulders are sturdy. His arms unflinching. “Where is that?”

“Mexico,” he says simply. “We’ll pull one more job on the way, and we won’t have to worry about anything ever again. We won’t stop until we get there. Those Feds will be too busy eating our dust to bother you anymore.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.” Ven mumbles.

Vanitas is suddenly at a loss for words.

“They’ll take you away from me.” He’s shaking. No. He doesn’t want Vanitas to see him like this. He didn’t want to feel this helpless ever again. “What will I do without you?” He buries his face in his trembling hands, silently begging Vanitas to not look. The void in his chest is now a gaping hole. It hurts. “I have nowhere else to go.”

Vanitas pulls Ven against him. “Shh...” His hold is strong. “It’s okay. They can’t take anything else from you. I won’t let them. I’ll steal the damn ground out from under their feet before I’d let it happen.”

“But how—”

“I won’t let it happen,” he stresses. “They’ll never be able to touch us.”

Ven holds onto his back. He wants to believe it with all his heart.  
  
They don’t even wait until the dead of the night like usual. They pack the car and leave in broad daylight, taking several unnecessary turns through the backstreets to make sure they’re not being followed. Ven tries his best to ignore the constant stinging of eyes on the back of his neck.  
  
They reach the open highway once again, and Vanitas steps on it. Southbound. Just a few hours to the state line.  
  
–  
  
There’s nothing like the stars in the middle of nowhere. Ven leans his head against the window and stares them down. They remain brightly suspended in a glowing hammock of dust. Not a cloud of obstruction. The crescent moon stands guard before them instead. There are more stars out here than all the money in the world, probably. More than they could ever steal. He imagines Vanitas scooping the diamonds out of the black water sky and stuffing them into a bag. But the sky is too big. The bag is overflowing. Ven knows there’s nothing in his own bag, so he reaches out to catch the falling stars before they touch the ground.  
  
–

Vanitas offers him the pistol, seriousness written in every line on his face. “Only use it if you have to.”

Ven nods and grasps the handle. Vanitas seems reluctant to let go, but he eventually does, and Ven tucks the firearm into his waistband. It’s heavier than it looks.

Vanitas props his own gun on his shoulder, some kind of submachine gun with lots of handles and a weird drum cartridge. Between his silhouette and his grin, he looks like a real gangster. Some of Ven’s nervousness melts away.

“You ready? This is the big one.”

“It’s the last one.”

And he laughs through his nose. “Don’t sound so disappointed, Venty. You gotta know when to lay low.”

Ven can feel the proverbial eyes stabbing at the back of his head. Of Sora and Riku inching ever closer to steal everything away from him.

‘ _I won’t let it happen_ ,’ were Vanitas’s words. Ven keeps them strapped against his chest.

“No more running,” Vanitas mutters as he hides the large gun in an even larger bag. The designated loot bag. He tosses it into the back seat of the sedan like groceries. “Let’s finish this.”

He ignores the anxious clenching in his guts. “Okay.”

–

Ven pulls the paper surgical mask over his nose. It was a last-minute grab. It does the job well enough.  
  
He stands mostly to the side, keeping an eye on the tellers and patrons of the bank while Vanitas does all of the real work. It’s fascinating. Vanitas commands a completely different presence here. His voice boomed with authority when they first walked in. He didn’t even have to fire his gun—merely show it—to have control of the room. He ordered the tellers away from their posts and gathered everyone together. No trouble. The people cower on the floor at Ven’s feet. He does his best to scowl. To seem imposing. He has a sinking feeling that it’s not working at all.  
  
Vanitas exits the vault with a stuffed bag and a grin peeking out from beneath his mask. He reaches over and tousles Ven’s hair. “I’ll grab the last of it. You go grab the car.”

“You got it.” He stows his gun away and heads out the door. Vanitas has it covered.  
  
His shoes hit the sidewalk just as a black car skids to a halt in front of the bank. Two men step out of it into the street: One with wild brown hair, and the other with platinum.  
  
Ven stops dead. Sora’s face is serious, but relieved.

No. You can’t be here. You shouldn’t be here!

“Long time no see, _Roxas_ ,” he grins, adjusting his grip on his pistol. Ven only swallows nervously. Sora keeps the barrel aimed at the ground. He’s no longer wearing a policeman’s uniform, but is instead dressed cleanly like Riku. Now it’s obvious that they’re partners. Of course they are. “What are you doing in a place like this?”

Ven is wondering the same thing. How is Sora here? He should be hundreds of miles away. Ven and Vanitas left the lawmen in the dust ages ago! They should still be in Oklahoma! How could they have possibly tailed them all the way here!?

A gunshot spikes the ground between them, and Sora is instantly at attention. The end of the pistol swings up to the door of the bank, where Vanitas stands with a gun in one hand and a heavy bag in the other. Ven’s pulse jitters in his chest. Vanitas has his gun trained on Sora.

“I would think carefully about my next move, if I were you,” Riku’s voice warns. He’s removed his own gun from its holster at some point, and has it aimed squarely at Ven. Those sharp eyes stay fixed on Vanitas. A clear threat.

Vanitas grinds his teeth. The gears are spinning wildly in his head. Ven sees it in his eyes. He’s outnumbered, and the police sirens are closing in fast.

No, wait. That’s wrong. He’s not outnumbered. Ven is here with him. Riku may have his weapon pointed at Ven, but he’s only looking at Vanitas. So, then… that means…

Ven moves like lightning. He snatches the pistol out of his waistband and levels it at Riku, whose eyes clearly widen.

“Riku!” Sora shouts, suddenly flustered. His attention is all over the place. He no longer knows who to look at.

“Sora, it’s fine,” Riku mutters. His gaze is now set firmly on Ven. They glare at one another in silence.

“Ventus…” Sora’s voice is so soft. That dying fall signs his disappointment.

Ven tightens his grip on the gun. He aims at Riku’s center, not his heart.

Vanitas takes a bold step forward and Sora flinches back to reality. “Well. As much as I hate to cut our time short, we really ought to be going.” He’s grinning. Back to proud. He’s back in control.

“Don’t move,” Sora presses.

That laugh is harsh. “Yeah, right. You pull that trigger now and we’re all dead. This is what you’d call a standoff.” Sora only narrows his glare. Vanitas glances at Ven. “Grab the car, but keep an eye on Pretty Boy. He looks like the reckless type.”

Riku barely twitches at the moniker. He decides to ignore Vanitas entirely. “You don’t even know how to use that thing, do you?” he asks Ven with a more condescending tone than a malicious one.

Ven doesn’t say anything. He wonders if Riku is willing to take that risk.

It doesn’t matter much, because Sora is not. “We don’t know that, Riku.”  
  
His partner huffs.  
  
Ven inches towards the waiting sedan, not taking his eyes or his aim off of Riku the whole time. The engine is still running, just like they left it. He gropes for the door handle and throws it open. Riku does nothing but glare over the barrel of his gun. Vanitas was right—there’s nothing the two Feds can do to stop this. If any one of them pulls their trigger, it’ll be nothing but a slaughter.  
  
Vanitas carefully makes his way down the concrete steps. Sora doesn’t lower his weapon either, but unlike Riku, he doesn’t look angry.

This tension. The air is so thick Ven could choke on it. He can’t breathe. Can’t even think. There only his hand on the door—the other on the pistol. Only Riku in his sights and Vanitas’s slow, confident footsteps in his ears.  
  
Sora’s voice barely punctures through the silence: “—you’re only gonna make this worse.”  
  
Ven has no idea what that means, and he doesn’t care. He flinches as Riku takes a step backwards, towards his own car, getting ready for a chase. Ven knows it’s coming. There’s no other way for this scene to end.  
  
Vanitas is right next to him now. He keeps his voice low between them. “On the bench, Venty. I’m the runner this time.”  
  
Ven barely nods.  
  
“Ventus!” Sora pleads. It’s almost enough to break his concentration. Riku arches an eyebrow at him. He noticed.  
  
Vanitas takes a deep breath. Some sort of signal. And then the world bursts apart.  
  
The next moment is a short, floating eternity. Ven feels a hand slam into his back. Sees Riku and the world tilt in his vision. The leather seat of the sedan meets his cheek. Vanitas is on top of him. Above the dashboard, the windshield shatters into a million pieces.  
  
Vantias waits until Sora and Riku have emptied their clips before raising up, stomping on the gas, and screaming off down the street without even closing the door.  
  
Ven doesn’t sit up until they’re at least two blocks away. His heart hammers a mile a minute in his chest—even faster than their getaway car. The pistol is suddenly much too heavy and foreign in his hands. He shakily tucks it back into the waistband of his pants and exhales a huge breath of air. It feels like he hasn’t breathed at all in a long time.  
  
“You okay?” Vanitas asks over the humming engine and squealing tires. The plan has changed, and Ven doesn’t recognize anything around them as their pre-planned route.  
  
He nods, nervously swallowing the buildup in his mouth. “I think so.”  
  
“Good.” Vanitas takes another wild turn down a narrow alley—hoping to lose the trail. He lifts the loot bag from between them and tosses it haphazardly into the backseat. Ven has never seen him wear a more serious face. “That was too close,” he mutters, and furiously smacks the steering wheel with the heel of his palm.  
  
“How did they find us so fast?”  
  
“Ya got me, Venty.”  
  
Ven sucks in another breath. His chest is so tight. He still can’t _breathe_. “At least we made it out.”  
  
He hears Vanitas sneer. “We ain’t made it yet.”  
  
“I’m surprised we got away at all.”

“They only let us go because you looked so damn terrified.”

Ven trips over his words. “I did?”

“That cop still believes in you. He feels sorry for you.”

“What for?” Ven snorts.

“He’s treating you like a victim,” he shrugs. “Which is fair enough. I _did_ kidnap you.”

“But I wanted to go with you.”

“There’s no room for nuance in the law, Venty. As far as they’re concerned, the mean ol’ robber came through and snatched the poor boy right out of his home!”

“They don’t know anything!”

“And I agree with you. But still, that cop is too nice for his own good. Even after you threatened his partner,” Vanitas chuckles, but it doesn’t last. His face turns serious again a moment later. “If things go south, he might be your only way out.”

“Out of where?”

Vanitas doesn’t answer, and a few blocks later they’re met with the sound of more screaming tires. A gunshot pings off the bumper and Vanitas swears. Ven turns around in his seat. Another car is following them. It’s close. Riku sits behind the wheel, while Sora is leaning out the passenger-side window, sitting on the door with his pistol raised. He miraculously keeps his aim steady as Riku swerves to follow Vanitas’s wild path. Sora fires again and the back window on the car shatters.

“Damn Fed is a good shot.” Vanitas roughly pulls the steering wheel, going down a side street and flinging Ven against the door. The other car doesn’t follow, but they’re not out of dodge yet.

Ven crawls back towards the driver’s side. “What can I do?”

“Just keep your head down!”

“Vanitas,” he presses. “Let me help.”

Hands groan over the steering wheel. He clenches his jaw. He’s going to say no. Say it’s too dangerous. “Grab the Thompson out the back,” he mutters. What? A shaky grin peels back his lips. “You know how to use it, right?”

Ven nods and reaches into the backseat. The submachine gun lies buried beneath the bag of money. A Tommy Gun. Right. He’s seen Vanitas use it a bunch of times—watched him clean and load it on their downtime with a dirty cloth in his hand and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Ven takes the gun. He can do this.

The other car comes careening back into view behind them. Sora fires another shot in their direction and it glances off the wheel well. He must be aiming for their tires.

Ven leans out of his own window with the Tommy Gun braced against his shoulder. He depresses the trigger and the bullets run wild. He’s forced to use his non-dominant hand, so his aim is all over the place, but it’s still enough to make Sora hurriedly slip back inside the car. Ven sees Riku glance worriedly in his partner’s direction, watches Sora gesture to insist he’s alright, and their windshield becomes a mirror.

They should understand, right? They should get it more than anyone. So why can’t they just leave it alone?

Ven glances back at Vanitas’s white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. The city limits are fast approaching. Three more blocks, and they’re outside the city. The buildings grow sparse. Sora fires several more shots that Vanitas dangerously avoids. Farther, and farther still. Into the middle of nowhere. Ven sends another barrage of bullets back towards their pursuers. Nothing gained. Nothing but time and distance.  
  
Ven briefly wonders if they’ll be running forever.  
  
“Hellfire,” Vanitas mutters.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“We took too many detours trying to shake off the Feds.” The engine sputters, as if to confirm. Vanitas grimaces at the dashboard. “End of the road, Venty.”  
  
“Huh?” But he doesn’t need Vanitas to say any more, because he already feels the car losing momentum. They’re out of fuel. The pursuing vehicle inches ever closer.  
  
Vanitas readjusts his grip. “Hang on.” Ven listens. The other car slides close behind, then to their side. Vanitas pulls his last effort—slamming on the brakes and throwing the wheel: trying to force the Feds off the road or into a wreck of tangled metal. It’s either the side of their car, or the ditch.  
  
But Riku isn’t a novice. He doesn’t fall for that trap. There’s no collision, only screaming tires and lots of kicked up dirt as both cars slide off the sides of the road.  
  
The pause doesn’t last long. Vanitas scrambles to make the first move. He grabs the pistol from Ven’s waist and darts out of the car. What he plans on doing, Ven doesn’t know. Ven fumbles out of the passenger side, and hears another set of doors opening. The Tommy Gun is too big and clunky, and tumbles out of his hands.  
  
He wants to help. He won’t let Vantias do this on his own.  
  
No, if it weren’t for him, Vanitas wouldn’t have to do any of this at all.  
  
He runs around the car. Vanitas stands tall in front of him. A gunshot blasts through the air, leaving nothing but a crackling echo in the distance.  
  
Vanitas hits the ground, and Ven’s entire body goes numb.  
  
Wait.  
  
The clink of a gun reloading. Riku’s voice says: “Next time, I won’t miss.”  
  
Vantias groans and swears into the dirt. The red of blood seeps through his shirt along his side. Front and back. A clean shot beneath the ribs. Through and through. Nothing important. Nothing but meat.  
  
Ven’s face twists. Why does he know that?  
  
He drops to his knees, hands glancing over Vanitas’s body. His shoulders. His arms. Vanitas’s own hands clamp down over the bullet wound. He writhes and curses some more. Ven grits his teeth. What does he do now? What?  
  
He snatches the handgun out of Vanitas’s grip and levels it at the first body he comes across. Sora takes a tentative step back.  
  
“Watch it,” Riku orders. Ven already knows the gun is aimed at him. He doesn’t even have to look.  
  
In an instant, Sora’s murky expression washes away. He’s _smiling_ , of all things. He lifts his hands and re-holsters his weapon. “Hey, c’mon. You don’t wanna do this.”  
  
Says who?  
  
“Let’s just take it easy.”  
  
Ven sucks in a trembling breath. It’s nothing but hot desert dust.

Sora cautiously inches forward. “Ventus, it’s alright. Nothing is going to happen to you. I know you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Sora,” Riku warns. He doesn’t lower his weapon at all.

“It’s fine,” he waves his hands, trying to coax Riku into standing down. It doesn’t work. He turns back to Ven and extends a hand. “You don’t have to run anymore. I know you’ve been through a lot, but we can make this right. Just trust me.”

The pistol trembles in Ven’s grip. He keeps the barrel trained on Sora, even though he’s sure he wouldn’t even be able to scratch him in this state. In the corner of his eye, Riku stands unmoving, gun poised and ready to end everything if Ven even _twitches_ in the wrong direction. If he even _thinks_ about pulling the trigger anywhere near Sora.

Vanitas groans from behind him, muttering beneath his breath so only Ven can hear it: “Go. It’s not worth it.”

“No.”

“Ven.”

Sora smiles, and it’s so bright and so genuine that Ven can’t stand to look directly at him. “C’mon, Ven… You never wanted any of this, did you?”

“I…”

“It doesn’t have to go like this. You’ll be safe with us. I promise.”

He’s safe where he is!

“I know you’re not a bad guy. You didn’t have a choice, huh?”

That’s not true… He had one. He chose this. He chose Vanitas. He chose freedom.

“You just got caught up.”

“Stop it,” Ven shudders. “Just shut up.”

“Ven—”

“No! Why don’t you get it!? You’re supposed to understand!”

Sora tilts his head. “Huh?”  
  
“Why won’t you understand?” His voice is breaking. Crumbling like ash. “We’re the same.” He’s met with nothing but silence. “How would you feel if someone tried to steal it all away from you?”  
  
Confusion settles over Sora’s face for only a moment, before recognition blooms like a sunrise. He looks back at his partner, and then again at Ven, and he seems so _sad_ and at war with himself. Does he finally get it? Does he see?  
  
“Ventus, it doesn’t have to go like this.” Sora’s voice tightens.  
  
Riku hasn’t moved at all. There’s no indication that he understood Ven’s words, but somehow, Ven is certain that he did.

Ven can see it in their eyes. The passing glances between them. Sora and Riku are the same as them. Sora is like Ventus, but Riku is like Vanitas. He’s too focused to be shaken up. That care will transform into conviction. Even if Ven could manage to down Sora, it will only ensure that Riku will not let them get away.  
  
There’s nothing for it.  
  
The center. Not the heart.  
  
He won’t kill. He doesn’t want to take that from them. They keep trying to take it from him, but he’s not like them. He’s better than them.  
  
Vanitas hisses through tightly clenched teeth. “Ventus, just—”  
  
Ven moves. He turns and fires at Riku and the bullet catches him in the hip. Ven frowns. His aim was off. He was hoping for the wrist.  
  
Riku’s gun fires as he falls, but he’s so off-balance that the shot flies uselessly into the dirt at Ven’s feet. Sora screams his partner’s name. Ven hoists Vanitas off the ground, and they scurry back towards the sedan.  
  
Ven hears Riku groan. “Pay attention, Sora! Don’t worry about me!”  
  
“But-” Sora stops short. Probably because he’s noticed what’s happening.  
  
Ven shoves Vanitas into the front seat just as Sora’s bullet sinks into the metal of the open door. He ducks down and fires back in their general direction, not aiming for anyone, not trying to hit anything. Riku responds with his own fire, but doesn’t appear to hit anything, either. Ven reaches for the luggage in the backseat and finds the half-full jug of moonshine.  
  
He knows this will work. He’s seen this before. The memory springs to life in full colour. A rainy Chicago night. A long ride. A stopped car. This will work!  
  
Another shot whizzes through the cabin of the car. Ven keeps his head low. Vanitas is still sprawled in the front seat with his face twisted in pain and a bloody hand glued to his side.  
  
“Sorry,” Ven mumbles, “but I gotta use your stash.”  
  
There’s no indication that Vanitas heard him at all.  
  
That’s fine. Ven fires back at the other car, where Sora has surely dragged Riku out of harm’s way. He hears the bullet connect with something metal. His hand slips out of the already busted windshield and unscrews the gas cap. He dumps the moonshine into the empty tank. There’s no telling how far this will actually get them, but the surprise that comes over Vanitas’s face when the car sputters back to life makes it completely worth it.  
  
Sora’s voice sounds above the engine: “ _What_ !?” Another gunshot. The side mirror is blown off.  
  
Ven doesn’t wait. He lays on the gas pedal. The sedan peels off down the street. Southbound, like before. It shouldn’t be much farther, right? Behind them, Ven sees Sora lower his gun and scramble into the driver’s side. They’re already so far behind.

Vanitas jerks in the seat, kicking Ven with his boot. “What are you doing!?”

“I’m taking you!” Ven shouts. His hands tighten dangerously over the steering wheel.

“ _What_?”

“I’m taking it all back! My life back!” There’s only the roar of the engine between them. “I’ll steal everything until I find what’s mine. I’ll do whatever it takes! I’ll nab every star out of the sky if I have to!”

“No, Ven, you just—”

“Shut _up_ , Vanitas let me do this! I’m taking you. I need to. I—I don’t have a future without you.”  
  
Vanitas hesitates. “You can make your own future.”  
  
“That’s what I’m doing now! So just hang on! We’re almost there!” Ven is all but standing on the gas. The engine is roaring and coughing and fighting with all its might—but they’re not going as fast as before. Not like all the getaway routes, or any of Ven’s joyrides out in the middle of nowhere. It must be the moonshine. Of course. It’s not actual fuel, after all. Ven’s hands work to keep the wheel steady on the uneven road. At this rate, Sora will catch up. Come on. Not much farther. Please.  
  
He chances a glance over his shoulder. That black, bullet-ridden car is gaining on them fast. Much too fast. He tugs on the steering wheel—stomps on the gas—begging the car to go faster. Nothing is working. They slam hard into a caved-in section of pavement and Vanitas yelps at the impact.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Ven shudders. “I’m sorry I’m sorry—”  
  
Vanitas kicks him again. He mutters through his teeth: “Don’t you dare be sorry.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“Shuddup. You made your choice, didn’t you? So did I. Least we can do is see it through.”  
  
That confidence. How does he do that? How can he be so sure at a time like this?  
  
The black car suddenly roars up beside them. Sora has the steering wheel in one hand and his pistol in the other. He makes eye contact with Ven over the barrel of the gun, and Ven sees tears slip down his face.  
  
“Ventus, please!” Sora yells over the engines and wind and road noise. “Stop all this!”  
  
Ven stares him down. He should be the one begging _Sora_ to stop. Pleading with _him_ to not do it. Across the divide, Sora’s aim is steady. The gun is set squarely on Ven. If Sora wanted to end it all right here, he very well could.  
  
Riku’s voice comes from somewhere in the other car, words Ven can’t make out, and Sora noticeably twitches. More tears come pouring down.  
  
That’s not right. Those should be Ven’s tears. That should be Ven’s devastation. His look of betrayal as the world does as it always does—steal everything away from him. _Why?_  
  
It’s not fair.  
  
_It’s_ _not fair!_  
  
Hot tears flood Ven’s cheeks. He meets Sora’s stare one last time, his lips shaping words without a voice: ‘Please.’  
  
Sora’s lip trembles. His grip tightens around the pistol, but he doesn’t fire. He sniffs, but Ven can’t hear it. Riku shouts, but Ven can’t understand it. The barrel begins to drop. Sora lowers his head as the black car slows and falls behind.  
  
Ven bumps over a bridge that has seen better days. A river. An old fence. The border. Ven doesn’t stop. Sora and Riku stay on the other side in a clear twilight sky. The only stars left in Texas are the two dimly burning headlights.  
  
Ven laughs. His tears overflow.  
  
–  
  
“Take it easy. This ain’t the first time I’ve been shot.”  
  
Ven’s hands falter. He stops wrapping the ribbons of what was once a shirt around Vanitas’s middle. His body is firm and unusually warm to the touch. Must be the rush.  
  
Vanitas snorts at his expression, but then immediately winces. Serves him right. “The first time was an accident.”  
  
Ven laughs nervously. “So, this time was on purpose?”  
  
“This time I might’ve deserved it.”  
  
Ven guffaws. He can’t help himself.  
  
A smirk creases Vanitas’s face. He watches the dim sky through the busted windshield as Ven works on the wrappings, illuminated by nothing but the moon. His eyes look so bright like this. They seem to glow in the bluish light. Vanitas glances back over, and Ven realizes his hands have stopped moving again.  
  
“Sorry,” Ven blurts, but he doesn’t know why. “I just threw you in here. There’s blood all over the seat.”  
  
“It’s no trouble. Leather is pretty easy to clean.”  
  
“Is that more experience?”  
  
“I get the feeling you’re insulting me.”  
  
“I would never,” Ven gasps.  
  
Vanitas starts chuckling, but it’s obviously painful. It doesn’t last.  
  
Ven secures the last of the makeshift bandages. It should be fine, so long as Vanitas doesn’t move too much. His open shirt lies beneath him, darkened with blood and at least two bullet holes. Ven’s eyes grow heavy. He stays sitting in the floorboard of the sedan, hands once again crusted in blood. “We’ll be okay, won’t we?”  
  
Vanitas hums. “You know any Spanish?” Ven shakes his head no, and Vanitas clicks his tongue. “We’ll get by.”  
  
Easy for him to say. Ven gives a tired sigh. It almost sounds like a laugh.  
  
Vanitas reaches over and ruffles his hair with blood-drenched fingers, and finally, a calm settles over the car. “I knew you’d be worth it,” he grins.  
  
It’s the same grin. Ven doesn’t have any ice cream to shove in his face, so he smushes the grin with his hand instead. Vanitas laughs against his bloodied palm. It’s soft and warm, and Ven laughs too.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *dramatic arm flailing* All I’m saying is, Vanitas isn’t the only one who should be emotionally crippled by the split between him and Ventus. If Vanitas feels /everything/ so /vividly/, then, by contrast, Ven should feel /nothing/. Vanitas is all stimuli and reaction, and Ven is disassociation and stagnation. Hence the coma in canon, I suppose… Ven’s pain tolerance must be /shit/.
> 
> I’m getting sidetracked.
> 
> A while ago, a Ludo song of the same name as this (that I hadn’t heard in years, mind you) popped into my head, and I thought: “Hah, a bankrobber au would be fun.” And then I proceeded to write 11k words because I clearly have no sense of /restraint/. *headdesk* I’ve also never written vanven before… Hm. I’m warm for this form. (Also: good song by an underrated band 10/10 would recommend.)
> 
> I’ve rolled around on the floor with this piece for so long I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. Is it decent? Terrible? Who knows! I certainly don’t! Too-subtle nuances and heavy-handed symbolism… I was going for a style, but a lot of stuff just ended up… vaguely Southern. Whoops. I guess I can’t kick up the roots. (Really. What /am/ I doing? What is writing? Can I microwave it?)
> 
> Ignore me. I’m just a fool.  
> @VaniVeniVici


End file.
